


Getting to Where We Are (Getting Here)

by JustEm



Series: Holding Together [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Nothing explicit, Same level as the show, The beginning of the series, how they came to be in foster care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustEm/pseuds/JustEm
Summary: In the beginning there was just Jason Gideon, a washed up FBI agent who opened his home to a group of unique foster children from all different backgrounds who needed a bit of an-unconventional-home. The road to turning a foster home into a family was paved with issues, but before even that are the circumstances which necessitated it.This is chronologically the first in the Holding Together series but you don't need to read the previous work to understand this one.
Series: Holding Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660165
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89





	1. The First Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This also has been sitting in my documents for over a year and a half and I'm just going to throw it out into the abyss and hope someone enjoys it. Hopefully that's you guys lol. Obviously, this takes place before Saturdays in the series but its pretty stand alone overall. Enjoy!

Aaron sat on the hard chairs, forcing himself to sit up straight. He had to be strong. He was the only one left. His brother was…gone and no one would tell him anything. One of the police officers – a woman, with short hair and a kind smile – had taken his brother from his place in the chair beside Aaron without a word to spare for Aaron himself. His mother was in the hospital, no word on how she was doing either.

The boy flinched as disjointed images assaulted his senses. The off-white tiles swam in his vision and were replaced by flashes of a fist swinging again and again and again. A blood stain on the floor. Bottles rolling drunkenly off a sickly green couch. A dull thud as a body hit the floor. The smell of alcohol. The feel of carpet on his face.

Panic. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. It hurt, his face, his arm, his side. He had to save them, had to protect them. _He_ was going to _kill_ them _._ It was going to be his _fault_ and he had to call someone and warn them and get help –

A hand gripped his shoulder and he was jolted back into the present to see a face hovering in his vision. His body was numb, eyes unfocused, and ears buzzing with a high-pitched squeal. Aaron concentrated and focused until the face became clear and the strange buzzing noise in his ears gave way to an unfamiliar voice.

As he stared at the man’s face (he had blond hair, green eyes, straight nose, _come on, Aaron, focus_ ), he began to pinpoint words from the steady, unending voice.

“You’re – don’t – I’m – police station – You’re alright – safe,” at an agonizingly slow pace, the random words became sentences, “Aaron, Aaron you’re okay. Don’t worry, you’re safe here. Come on breath for me, in and out, in and out. That’s it, you’re doing well. Keep going, kiddo.”

Aaron suddenly noticed that he was hyperventilating and tried desperately to calm down. He focused carefully on the voice and its instructions. They, along with the grounding hand on his shoulder, were the only things keeping him from being violently thrown into another flashback.

As he got his breathing under control, he focused on the world around him. The cold, plastic chair beneath him. The warm hand on his shoulder. The yellow lights and the dirty walls around him. Aaron knew from experience that the more he focused on the things around him, the calmer he would become. He knew where he was, he had to focus on that.

As the boy came back to himself, he began to shut himself off, throwing up a well practiced poker face as a shield against the world. He locked all the panic and emotions behind a thick wall that he had built. It had taken years, but he had had years, and he had perfected this art.

The blond-haired man watched as the boy closed himself off. He could only guess as to what was happening within his mind. His face was shuttered, like a curtain pulled across a window, hiding the occupants from view. All vestiges of the panic and pain he had just witnessed vanished as if into thin air.

The man tucked those thoughts away and waited for a moment to make sure the boy in front of him wasn’t going to break down again. When it was clear the moment was over, the man cleared his throat and got straight to the point, “Aaron, my name is Simon Goodell, but you can call me Simon. I’m a social worker and I’m here to help you. I know you have a lot of questions and I’m going to do my best to answer them. Before that though, are you hungry? Thirsty?”

The now seemingly emotionless boy shook his head. Throughout Simon’s short speech, his expression had not changed nor had he looked away from the man’s face. It was slightly unnerving, but nothing the man couldn’t work with.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Now, it’s getting to be pretty early, almost morning in fact. So, what do you say we get out of here, huh?”

Aaron had quickly realized that, as usual, he had little say in the matter and asking was more of a formality than anything. A pretty common theme he had noticed throughout his life so far.

He simply nodded, being careful to show none of what he was feeling, especially not to this stranger. Simon seemed nice but Aaron wasn’t quite ready to trust the man yet, he had fallen for acts just like this one too many times before.

Before delving too deeply into his thoughts, the boy stood up, following the man through the police station and into the early morning light. The duo stayed silent as they walked to and entered Simon’s car, a silver Kia.

Once inside, the blond man turned to the boy in the seat next to him, “Alright, kiddo, now I realize things are moving really fast but I need you to stay with me for just a little while longer. Do you know about what’s going on?”

For the first time, the boy spoke, “Yes, sir.”

The social worker’s brow furrowed, but a small smile appeared on his face, “Well, at least we got that sorted huh?” He laughed quietly to himself and made sure to respond playfully so the boy would know he was kidding, “Maybe you could expand on that? Add a little more detail, maybe?”

Aaron noticed that, while more of a request than last time, it was still very much expected that he would answer.

“My father was drinking and he lashed out and hit my mother. I sent my brother to hide and I went to make sure my mother was okay. I got in between them, he hit me, the police came in, and here we are.”

Short and sweet was all Aaron felt capable of at the moment. Anything more and his mask would crack again, and once today had been more than enough. Of course, there was more to the story then he had said, but he had been up all night, had a panic attack or flashback or whatever that had been, and was stuck with a man he knew nothing about, sue him if he was a little bit tired.

“Fair enough,” Simon said after a moment, no longer smiling but looking sympathetic instead, “Do you have any questions then?”

“Where’s my brother?”

The question had slipped out without a thought but had been a large concern of his since his brother had been taken by the police officer.

“Good question,” the man didn’t seem fazed, “Your brother was taken by Cindy to a nice foster family who happened to have a spot open up on short notice. He’s fine, not to worry, but they only had one spot and there are no places available with two spots, I checked. That’s why I took so long to come and get you.”

Simon looked apologetically at the boy and saw the emotionless mask drop for a split second before slamming into place even harder than before. What had been done to make this child so cut off from the world, he wondered. Rather than follow that thought for the moment, the man turned his attention back to the boy beside him who had his own attention focused on his knees, though he was still sitting up rigidly straight.

The social worker prepared himself to speak but the boy in front of him beat him to it.

“What about my mother?”

Well, this was exactly where Simon did _not_ want this conversation to go.

“I’m really sorry, kiddo, but she didn’t make it. She had lost too much blood by the time the paramedics got her to the hospital.”

The boy’s mask slipped completely this time. He was absolutely devastated. All Aaron could think was that now he was alone. This was his fault, it had to be. Aaron didn’t know what he had done, but there was sure to be something, his father had always said he was a screw up and it looked like he had finally proved him right. Aaron was sure the bastard was laughing at him from his cell and gloating about just how right he really was.

After a moment, Aaron noticed his mask, his protection from the world, had slipped and he hastily tried to put it back on. It was hard and it took a moment, one that was far longer than he would have liked, but then it was done. This he knew. He could hide his emotions like a professional spy and he could walk the walk until he was everything that a person ever wanted, and that defense made him feel safe. If there was no reason to hurt him, then no one would. If they hurt him anyway, then he would make sure they’d never know. His emotions were his, and at this point were the only thing that he had left. These he would protect and from this point forward, he would decide what the world got to see.

With that thought, he schooled his expression and turned back to Simon, who was watching him intently.

“Are you sure you’re alright? It’s okay if you aren’t,” the man assured.

“Yes, I’m fine,” the boy answered shortly, looking over at the man and staring him in the eyes.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get more than that, the social worker let another small smile creep onto his face as he turned away from the boy and turned on the car.

“In that case,” he began, “Let’s go get some breakfast and then we have some people I think you might like to meet.”

With those words, Aaron was thrown into the foster care system for the first time. He had both short-term and longer-term placements. He met people, even cared for some, but inevitably they were all pulled away before he could really get settled.

It hurt sometimes, knowing that he was unwanted, but that simply strengthened his resolve to cut himself off from the world. If the world didn’t care about him, then it had no right to know how he was feeling or what he was thinking.

He made sure to be a well-behaved child, becoming whatever the family wanted and always being the model, the example others were set to. Parents would tell the other kids in the house to act more like Aaron and yet no one seemed to want him anyway.

They always said the same things.

“He’s just a little…odd.”

“We don’t have any room.”

“I don’t think this is the best place for him.”

It went on and on. He went from the Johnston’s (they were nice), to the Smith’s (they were…less nice), to Mrs. Matheson’s (she _really_ didn’t like him), to the group home (there were so many people there), to Sam’s (Aaron really had liked him, had thought he had finally found someone who he wouldn’t have to _leave_ ), back to the group home (still as full as before), and the list just grew longer every time he moved.

Sam’s had been the longest he had stayed at a home. Almost a full year. It had seemed like a dream come true until Sam had sat him down and let him know that yet another move had come up.

After that, Aaron hadn’t even tried to get close to the families; it hurt far less that way. The boy built up his walls, higher and higher until even he couldn’t see where they ended. He hoped they didn’t.

The only constant he had during this process was Simon Goodell. The man was kind, but busy, and while he dropped in when he could, it wasn’t enough to form a lasting connection. Yet Aaron still found himself looking forward to seeing the only person he really knew in his life, the only person he could really count on to be there and even that was flimsy at best.

The last time he was moved, Simon had done his best to explain the situation.

“Alright Aaron, you know the drill by this point. Your new foster family is an older man. He was actually in the FBI – that’ll be neat huh, kiddo? – and his son is grown up. You’ll actually be his first foster, so be good. Well, you’re always good, aren’t you, kiddo? Good thing, because it looks like we’re here already, come on out. I’m really excited for you to meet him. I think you two will really click.”

Aaron had stepped out of the car the same way he had at every other foster home. He stood the same way, had on the same emotionless expression, and didn’t really expect to stay at the small two-story house they had pulled up to for any longer than the other homes.

Still, Aaron couldn’t quite crush the small spark of hope that rose in his chest. Something about this place was different, he didn’t know how or why, just that it was. He hoped it wasn’t simply because Simon had said something.

With that thought spinning in his head, he and his social worker stepped up and knocked on the door.

An older man with heavy lines engraved into his face opened it and was quickly greeted and introduced by Simon.

“Aaron, this is Jason Gideon, your new foster parent.”


	2. The Last Chance

The way his feet smashed the ground, harder and harder with every step, simultaneously built up and let out all of the rage that seemed to be spilling from him. Running was great, he could run until he was so exhausted, that he just didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore. It seemed to be his constant state ever since –

On the other hand, running was terrible. When he ran, he thought and the thoughts spilling from his brain were doing nothing to lower the amount of rage that he was feeling. Every time he believed he might have out run the torrent of emotion, it just came back, stronger and more painful than before.

It had been one of his first foster families that had led him to running. The father of the family, John Sinier, had noticed how angry he got at even the smallest things. The man had been an avid runner and had taken him on his first run after only a week. From then on it had become their thing, sometimes they were joined by Amanda, John’s wife, or their son Cooper, but usually it was just the two of them.

Their daily runs, come rain, shine, or snow had given him a lot. The routine had finally given him some stability after everything that had happened. Knowing what was coming next had had a huge effect on his mental state. Nothing surprising happened at that home and it had made him feel safe, safe enough to finally let loose and begin to process all the things that had happened to him only months prior.

The runs also gave him an outlet. A time for him to process his emotions and a real way for him to work through them and get exhausted enough for him to finally sleep.

He had horrible nightmares after the incident that took his mother and sisters from him, but the running slowly helped him sleep better as he was both tired and had something he could control. Something that he could do or not do, something that was solely his choice.

The first time he had slept a full night since before he could remember had been in the Sinier’s foster home. There he had felt safe and calm, and after his run that day, he was so tired he almost fell asleep at the dinner table. So, he had gone to bed soon after eating and finishing his chores, sleeping the whole way through until morning and feeling completely rested for the first time in what seemed to be forever. He had been extraordinarily close to crying that morning, knowing he could get back to how it was before everything gave him an immeasurable hope.

The runs that he had taken with John had given him another thing, what he thought might have been the most important thing. It gave him confidence. The confidence that what he did had an effect on the world. The confidence that not all men wanted to hurt him. The confidence that he had desperately needed to be able to pick up his life and put himself together after everything he had been through.

John and Amanda had been sent from above, just in time too. He really didn’t know how much more he would have been able to take. The foster homes before them had been abysmal. The families had no idea what he needed and had made everything worse and harder for him. 

The first family had changed day to day. There was no stability and it had left him reeling. One day they were happy and fine with what he was doing, while the next they would yell and scream at him for crying or getting upset.

That was the foster home where he had learned not to cry.

So, he had covered his sadness and hurt with anger. Pretty soon, that same anger became rage and it had become directed out at the people who were hurting him. The last time he had been hurt by someone he was told he could trust he had pushed all the hurt and anger and hopelessness down. This time, he let it all out.

Needless to say, that foster family hadn’t lasted long.

The second foster family was a terrible idea from the beginning. He was placed in a home with three other boys and a man in his thirties to take care of them.

The man himself was kind and let him do whatever he needed so long as it didn’t harm him or any of the other boys in the home. He was supportive and helpful and that made it all the worse.

He couldn’t trust this man, this was exactly what happened the first time. So, he acted out. He got into fights with the other boys when he started feeling too much. He turned all the fear of _please, no, please it can’t happen again, I won’t let it_ and all of the hurt of _I let it happen the first time, what makes me think I can change it this time_ to anger, just like he had been taught.

Unfortunately, that placement had lasted even less time than the first.

But the Sinier’s had been his lifeline. They had seen him, even when he fought them because he was scared and hurt and confused. They helped him and gave him ways to control his anger and let out some of his emotions. They talked to him, telling him what to expect and then sticking to that plan as best they could. They had even sent him to see a therapist, telling him it was good to talk about things and modelling that where he could see it and watch it play out.

Even Cooper, their son, had welcomed him with open arms. The boy had been kind, even when he got upset and tried to start fights.

He has no idea how they put up with him, especially in those early months.

But nothing ever lasts, does it?

They had taught him, taken care of him, and in return he had learned and cared for them. His anger levels went down. He was kinder. He became calmer. He finally felt safe enough to open up to someone for the first time in what felt like forever.

For the first time, he felt he could tackle talking about what happened.

He had sat down with John and Amanda and told them about his dad, a police officer, who had died in the line of duty. He had talked about how that had led to him having problems, and had described how that had led him to Carl Buford. How the man he had trusted had been a pedophile. He had talked about the helplessness, the sleepless nights, and how much it had hurt. It was the first time he had told anyone these things and it had felt so good to get it off his chest. It was even better that it was someone he trusted.

Even more, he talked about how he finally stood up to his tormentor. He told them about the aftermath too. Described in detail how Carl Buford had come into his home a few nights later. He told them about how he had killed his mom first, and then his sisters. By the time he was about to be killed, the police showed up and managed to get him out. Him, and only him. He was alone and had just lost everything he had in the world.

But he also told them about how much they had helped him. How much he liked staying with them.

There was not a dry eye during that conversation, but that was okay. They had taught him that, even if it hadn’t fully sunk in at that point.

Happiness never seems to last though and this was no exception. Out of the blue, his social worker had shown up and said he was moving. There was no warning at all and John and Amanda protested, he knew they did. They brought it all the way up to her supervisor, but by then it was too late and they refused to move him back, they claimed that there were other children who needed them more.

So, he retreated back into his shell. Hid his emotions and let anger take the reins as he hopped from foster home to foster home, never staying long. They didn’t want him, not like the Sinier’s had, so he wouldn’t want them either.

As he slowly finished his run, his thoughts drew to a close as well. He pulled the headphones out of his ears and stepped up to the front door of his newest foster home. He eased open the door and listened. This was not one of the nicer families and he wanted to know what he was getting into before entering the house.

Instead of silence or yelling, which was what he was expecting, he heard hushed voices coming from the end of the entry hall, floating out from the kitchen. He tiptoed towards the voices and the first thing he heard was his name, never a good thing.

“Derek is…he’s just not a good fit here Vera. I don’t know what you want me to tell you. He’s disrupting the other kids and honestly, he’s not doing well himself.”

The voice of his foster mother was soft and slightly apologetic, far more than he thought she would be when she asked his social worker to take him somewhere else. In the case of asking him to leave, it was a when, not an if and it had taken far longer than he had anticipated.

“I realize that Julie, but I don’t have anywhere else to put him,” Vera replied, sounding frustrated, as though she had repeated the same line many times before, and really, she probably had.

“Well, find somewhere because he can’t stay here any longer. He’s starting fights and the other kids are being negatively impacted by him and his behaviour. Make it happen, Vera, I’m serious.”

With that, his foster mother stood up (he could tell because of the long scraping noise of the chair legs across the floor) and he ran back down the hall as quietly as he could and up the stairs to his room. 

He threw himself on his bed and waited, knowing someone would come to get him soon. They always did. Even if he didn’t want to stay in that foster home, it was still better than the unknown. He may not have felt as safe here as he did as the Sinier’s but at least he knew where he was. They fed him here too, which was better than some places.

Derek had no idea what the next place would be like, but he could only hope it was at least as good as this one. He really didn’t ask for much, food, water, and shelter, the bare minimum was really all he expected at this point. Wasn’t much, and was honestly a little bit sad looking at it this way. He was a survivor though. If he had managed to live this long, through all of this, he could move one more house, he was sure of that.

A knock on his door made him lift his head and say a calm, “Come in.”

He was not surprised and it showed on his face. What did surprise him, however, was the person who came through the door. He had expected his social worker, Julie having shoved the unwanted job on the poor women, but it seemed that Julie had endeavoured to come and kick out the problem child herself. Inspiring. Such an honour for him, to be kicked out by someone other than his social worker for once.

His sardonic commentary was cut off as Julie walked over and sat on the bed beside where he was laying on top of the light blue quilt covering the bed that was ‘his’. She looked down at her hands, and fiddled with them for a moment, letting the awkward silence flow over the room and settle in deeply before she opened her mouth to speak.

“So, Derek, I have some bad news,” the plump women began. She ran a hand through her hair.

“Its time for me to leave. I get it, I’ve overstayed my welcome. No worries, I’m already mostly packed, I won’t take up much of your time.”

Derek gave a thin, close-mouthed smile and took a perverse joy in the look of surprise that appeared on her face.

She opened her mouth as though to speak, with a look of surprise still plastered on her face. Instead she closed her mouth and stared at him for a second, losing the look of surprise to one of focused intent, as though she was searching him for something. Derek felt suddenly exposed, this had certainly not gone how he thought it was going to, and he turned away.

Finally, Julie broke the silence again.

“Derek, you are always welcome here. It seems that I haven’t exactly treated you fairly while you’ve stayed here, but you have made quite a few mistakes yourself, young man,” she pushed herself up off of the bed and wandered over to the door, stopping but not turning as she continued, “At your next house, make sure you curb some of that anger. You might find it changes a lot of things when you do. Best of luck.”

Derek watched as Julie paused in the doorframe as though she wanted to say something else, but instead, she walked out the door and down the hall, her footsteps telling him that, like everyone else, she was leaving him. Heading down the stairs and straight out of his life.

He took a deep breath, settling himself. This had hurt more than he thought it would, but it wouldn’t do any good to sit around feeling sorry for himself, not when he was leaving anyway and certainly not when it seemed that he had brought this on himself. Just like every other time he supposed.

With that, he picked up his half-packed bag, shoving everything he owned that wasn’t already in the bag into it. He moved from his room to the bathroom, the only places he kept his things, and gathered up whatever clothes where his from the dirty hamper. He’d clean them when he got to wherever he was headed next.

Once he was sure he had everything, he walked down the straight stairs for the last time, head held high, and face unaffected. At the bottom, his social worker was waiting. That was it. None of the other occupants of the house had come to see him off and he had expected nothing less.

Vera opened the door and led him to her car. They climbed in in silence, and Vera started the car, not making a movement towards the radio or starting a conversation. He could tell she was unhappy and frustrated, and for that he was honestly sorry.

Even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t look back, he did, and in the windows were faces, peering out from behind curtains. Guess they wanted to watch the great failure’s walk of shame. Not caring enough to actually say goodbye, but caring just enough to acknowledge it was happening. A fairly typical occurrence by this point.

After turning the corner, Vera finally began to speak, “Derek, what am I going to do with you?”

She left her question there for a moment, a clearly rhetorical one, before shaking her head despairingly and continuing.

“Honestly, child. You are so lucky I even found you that place, another place being willing to take you with all of your anger and acting out was incredibly hard to find. This is your last warning. If you don’t shape up at this last house, you’re done. I will have completely run out of places to put you. The next step after that will not be pretty, believe you me. Now listen here and listen closely. You be good in this house. It’s run by a man, a Fed, so don’t try any funny business. There’s only one other boy there right now and he’s a sweetheart so you take care and don’t corrupt him, you hear me?”

Derek wasn’t surprised by her speech, he heard a version of it every time he moved to a new foster home it seemed. This time, however, Vera was different. She was a lot more to the point and he had a feeling that she wasn’t kidding about this being his last chance.

Hopefully it was an alright place. If this really was his last chance, he wasn’t going to be able to handle a terrible family, he would get angry and then the cycle would begin again or even worse, it would end and he’d be sent to who knows where.

So, unhappy though he was, he replied with a soft and petulant, “Yes, ma’am.”

Vera nodded her head and the car was filled with the soft sound of old blues music, giving life to his feelings at the moment and clearly striking an end to the conversation.

The soft melodies came and went for the hours they were in the car, and it really was hours. Derek just sat, stared out the window at the scenery, and thought about his life. It seemed to be something he had been doing quite a bit lately.

The future was an uncertain thing, that was for sure. He had no idea what a ‘last resort’ family was like. It seemed like it would be far worse than the families he had been exposed to so far, and some of them really hadn’t been a picnic.

It was wishful thinking, but he hoped he could go back to the Sinier’s, or at least to someone like them. All he wanted was…

He couldn’t even manage to admit it to himself. He wasn’t going to get it anyway, why bother hoping for it? No, from now on he would hope for achievable things. A safe place to stay, enough food to eat, maybe he’d even go out on a limb and hope for a family who didn’t completely ignore him. That would really be nice.

With that, he let his thoughts wander onto lighter things. Things like the school work he had to finish, and the book he had been reading before he left.

Slowly, they passed from driving on the highway to passing through the commercial area, passing malls and grocery stores competing for business with big light up signs and ads of actors acting like families. He knew real families couldn’t be that happy, there was no way. He knew that from experience.

Slowly the businesses and offices made way to houses and they entered suburbia. Passing houses that all looked the same, with perfect lawns and white picket fences, effective tools for hiding the problems and blemishes within.

Soon they pulled into the driveway of a house basically identical to the ones next to it. The house itself was halfway down a side street that ended in a cul-de-sac. A perfect place for perfect families, he thought bitterly.

As the car slowed to a stop and Vera turned off the engine, she spared him a quick glance full of unspoken warnings of what would happen should he fail to do as she asked and be a polite, model child.

He ignored her and climbed out of the car, pulling his bag of possessions out with him.

She swiftly moved to the front door, politely knocking three times in a quick sequence. They waited in a thick and heavy silence until the door knob turned. The door swung open to reveal an unassuming older man.

He broke the silence before Vera could, completely ignoring her and focusing all of his attention on the boy beside her, “You must be Derek. I’m Jason Gideon, your new foster parent.”


	3. The Aftermath

“She still isn’t speaking?”

The tall man in the lab coat shook his head, “No, Mr. Reily. We’ve tried everything too, at this point there’s really nothing we can do. Maybe if you had someone who could empathize with her, or someone who knows how to handle these types of cases. A foster parent who specializes in trauma perhaps?”

“I’m sorry Dr. Sihgn, all of those types of foster homes are full,” Caleb Reily looked back at the blonde-haired girl sitting on the waiting room chair in the therapist’s office.

“Honestly, I wish I could do more. I mean – well you have the specifics of the case, don’t you?”

“No,” the doctor replied honestly, shaking his head, “I never got the files, although I don’t believe it would have helped in this case regardless.”

“Oh, seriously,” Caleb was a social worker so if anyone knew a busy schedule it was him, and yet Janice had still failed to send the papers to the doctor. By this point, he should have known not to trust her with such important documents but he would still be having a word with her supervisor that was for sure. The specifics of the case mattered far more than the therapist knew, at least in Caleb’s admittedly broad experience. Being a social worker for over twenty years had taught him a lot, especially when considering the things that couldn’t be learned in school.

“Alright, so doctor-patient confidentiality in effect, here’s the deal. The girl’s sister committed suicide, I don’t know how close they were but it’d affect anyone, and not in a good way. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, poor girl watched her family fall apart when her parents couldn’t deal with it.”

The two professionals had lowered their voices and leaned in closer to each other, like two middle schoolers sharing gossip. Both had become invested in the case, and the story didn’t end on a good note, not with a girl who refused to speak being the outcome.

“So, her parents divorced, traumatic yes, but that should not have affected her to this degree, I don’t think,” the therapist looked confused until Caleb continued.

“If her parents had simply divorced sure, but they didn’t deal with the issue. Her mother regressed. She completely ignored the fact that her child had died and continued as if she hadn’t, going so far as to have conversations with her dead daughter. Having a child commit suicide is hard enough but that plus watching his wife go insane caused her father to turn to suicide himself to escape everything that had happened. Her mother pretended the father was still alive just like with the dead daughter. Eventually a teacher found out and called CPS but we have no idea how long she lived in those conditions as no one reported the father’s death, but it was at least a few weeks.”

Dr. Sihgn’s eyes grew wide, “How was that allowed to happen? Why did she not say anything?”

“We don’t know,” the social worker admitted, “She still won’t talk so she can’t tell us anything either.”

Both men turned their gaze on the girl who had yet to move from her chair on the waiting room. She had taken to looking through the magazines left for bored patients and their family members.

“What are you going to do then? Are you sure there is no one who is in a position to help her?” the therapist questioned.

“There isn’t anyone. Not that I…although there is the last resort parent.”

“The what?” Dr.Sihgn arched his eye brow and stared at the social worker from over top of his thin wire glasses.

“It’s a placement for the kids who have seen too much trauma or don’t fit well in more conventional families. It’s run by a retired FBI agent and he has the training to deal with trauma in a way other fosters just can’t. But, he can only take a few cases because once the kids end up there, they don’t leave, so he’s used as a last resort. I think I should call my supervisor. Thanks for all your help.”

Caleb patted the man’s shoulder distractedly, keeping his gaze on his charge as he walked towards her. The therapist watched for a moment, hoping against hope that Caleb would work a miracle and get the girl the help she needed before turning around and going back to his work.

“Hey JJ, I gotta make a quick call. Will you be okay for a minute?”

The blonde raised her head, blinking slowly at the man in front of her. There was pause before she slowly nodded her head up and down. 

For JJ, she just wanted to be left alone. She wanted to process everything and figure out which way was up. What she didn’t want was people asking her question after question that she didn’t know how to answer. Yet, lo and behold that was exactly what happened. She figured though, that if she stopped talking, people would stop asking questions and for the most part it had worked.

Now though, she had to figure out what to do. Her heart hurt and she was angry at her family for leaving her the way they had. But mostly, she was hurt. She just wanted to understand, but at the moment it seemed to be a tantalizing idea, but one she couldn’t reach. 

That depressing thought was disrupted by Caleb coming back into the waiting room, cheeks and nose wind burnt by the cold harsh wind that autumn had brought with it. 

“Good news, JJ,” he exclaimed with a wide smile on his face, disrupting the quiet stillness that always seemed to permeate waiting rooms, “I have the perfect place for you to stay. You’re going to love it.” 

He motioned for her to follow him and kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation as they headed into the brisk autumn air. JJ pulled her arms around herself and listened to her social worker with half an ear as she climbed into the black SUV. 

He started the car and off they went, him talking all the while. JJ focused on the sky and the clouds, letting the litany from the man beside her flit in one ear and out the other, as she imagined the clouds talking different shapes and forms. 

After a while – JJ hadn’t really been paying attention and had no idea how long it had really been – they pulled into a calm neighbourhood, a replica of all other communities like it, no matter where they had popped up. This was familiar from her own home, before everything had gone downhill the way that it had.

She tuned back into what Caleb was saying as the car began moving slowly through the streets to wherever their destination ended up being.

“I honestly think you’ll like it here, JJ. The boys are really nice and the foster parent here has been amazing at helping kids like you get over trauma and things. Looks like for now you’ll be the only girl in the house but I have a feeling that won’t be a problem for you. You’ll be ruling the roost soon enough.”

The man laughed and pulled into an innocuous drive way. The lawn was well-kept and there was a nice sized porch with a chair on it. Those were the most notable things about the house so far but JJ was sure the inhabitants would be far more interesting, even from hearing just the tail-end of what Caleb had been spewing.

Her social worker grabbed her bag from the back of the car, where it had been placed earlier that morning before she had visited the therapist’s. With the bag in hand, he led the way up the three stairs and onto the porch, knocking on the door with a solid rapping sound. 

They waited for a few minutes. JJ could hear muffled voices and movement from within as the occupants communicated. When the door finally opened, it was to a boy, looking to be around her age, with dark hair and blue eyes. The boy looked the pair on the doorstep over for a moment before turning and walking deeper into the house – presumably to find the owner of the home – leaving the door open as a silent invitation for the two he left behind to enter. 

Caleb led the way, stepping into the entry. The side table caught her attention first. It was a simple piece, made of some type of dark wood, but it was covered in pictures in frames and unopened mail and keys and the other sorts of odds and ends that accumulate on the surfaces of furniture in homes that are lived in. As she studied the rest of the room, taking in the coats hanging on the coat rack and the warm yellow walls that made the house seem so inviting, she saw a man turn out of a doorway that appeared on the left wall of the entrance way.

The man walked confidently and moved in front of Caleb and JJ, taking them in quickly and offering his hand to Caleb before turning to JJ to do the same.

“Hello, JJ, Caleb has told me quite a bit about you, my name is Jason Gideon. Welcome to your new home.”


	4. The Accident

Penelope loved having the house to herself. It gave her a good chance to dress up in all of the colourful and border-line ridiculous outfits that she created from the clothes hanging in her closet. She would dance around the house to loud music and eat all the junk in the house.

The icing on the cake, though?

No one to tell her when to go to bed or what to do or how to do it.

Now, don’t get Penny wrong, she absolutely loved her parents, but they were parents. They were overbearing and difficult by what she was sure was some in built code, left dormant in everyone’s genes until they became a parent and it just suddenly activated.

Regardless of the overbearing gene, she did love her parents and generally enjoyed their company. There was something about being home alone, though, that just changed your perspective on life.

Penny felt like she was high on the freedom it brought her to just do dumb things without anyone asking questions. She was queen of this castle now, and that wouldn’t change until the real king and queen came back to claim their castle, leaving her a lowly princess once more.

Although she supposed princesses really weren’t that lowly. They still got most of what they wanted and still ruled, but there was something about being in control, being queen, that gave her such a heady feeling as she surveyed her kingdom.

To add to the joy she felt at being home alone, was the fact that it was Friday night, meaning she could stay up way later than normal and sleep in on Saturday. Penny couldn’t think of a better way to christen the weekend then by prancing around the house in the best outfit she could create, with feathers falling out of her neon pink feather boa as she danced the night away.

Eventually, though, all amazing and fantastic things must come to an end. Late that night, Penny crashed into dreamland with the same fervour that she had during the day, even when exhausted from her time home alone.

She slept until late into Saturday morning, waking after ten and heading downstairs to get her breakfast. As she stumbled through the house, she expected to see her parents, in their pajamas, getting ready to ask her about her night and jokingly tease her about all of the feathers that she was now going to have to clean off the floor.

They were no where to be found downstairs.

Penny wasn’t worried yet. Her parents had probably just had a late night and didn’t feel like getting up yet. It was strange but not unheard of, and even parents needed to rest sometimes.

So, Penny went about her day, making breakfast and eating it too, before going to do some of the homework she had put off the night before. She knew that if she didn’t get it done, she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere later that night and she was not passing up an opportunity to hang out with some friends if she could help it.

When Penny next looked at the clock it was twelve-thirty, far later than she had thought. She decided to get some lunch, as food was one of the best ways to procrastinate because the food had to be made and eaten, which took twice as long as a bathroom break and almost four times as long as getting a drink.

Penny wandered downstairs but saw no signs that her parents were up. While getting up at ten was odd, getting up at twelve-thirty was unheard of.

She was a little worried, but not too concerned. They would have made it home, there was nothing to worry about.

She ran upstairs and checked their bedroom. The bed was made. She checked the kitchen. There wasn’t a note, and they usually wrote one when they left without talking to her first, but it wasn’t unheard for them to leave her high and dry.

She thought for a minute before running to the large window in the family room. Looking into the driveway, she saw it was empty. Alright, the reasonable conclusion was that they were at the store, nothing to worry about, they’d be back soon for sure.

Penny headed to the kitchen and began making lunch, continually brushing her colour streaked hair out of her face. She had chosen purple this time, a royal colour to fit how she had been feeling at the time.

After eating her lunch, she finished the last of her homework, leaving her with nothing to do. Turning on the T.V. turned out to be a useless endeavour as there was nothing on at all. It was Saturday, it was practically a rule that something had to be playing, but it seemed whoever ran the channels had decided not to honour that tradition.

She spent the afternoon on the couch, continually flipping between channels and side eyeing the clock, occasionally calling or texting her parent’s cell phones, but never getting an answer.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, she was definitely worried. Her parents had never done this before and had certainly never been this late without calling before.

Just as she was about to call someone else, maybe the neighbour, she hadn’t really decided yet, there was a knock on the door.

She raced over to get it, hoping that it was her parents, despite the logic telling her that they wouldn’t have knocked, this was their house after all.

When she practically ripped open the door, not even bothering to look through the peep hole like she probably should have, she was surprised to see police officers stationed there.

She stared at them in surprise until the huge mountain of a man on the left cleared his throat and asked for her name in a deep, smooth voice.

“Penelope, Penelope Garcia,” she stuttered out.

The man’s partner, a much shorter women, took control of the conversation from there.

“Can we come in? We have some news to give you.”

Penny wordlessly stepped out of the way, for once speechless with what was going on.

She guided them to the living room thoughtlessly and plopped down on a chair that was angled towards the couch they had chosen to sit on.

“I’m Officer Annie and this is my partner, Officer Andrew. I have some bad news. Late last night, your parents were driving and they were hit by a drunk driver. They died on route to the hospital. I’m so sorry.”

This wasn’t happening, it was all a dream. It had to be. There was simply no other option. No way. Nope. Couldn’t be true.

Penny only realized she was crying when she noticed that Officer Annie had moved – looking back she could see that they had probably used their names to make her more comfortable so they could break the news more easily – and was handing her a Kleenex, talking over a distraught voice saying no over and over.

Then she realized that the voice belonged to her and she was crying. Noticing those things only made her cry harder.

Things got blurry around that time. She remembered bits and pieces of leaving the house with a key, getting in a car, and arriving at a police station. From there, Penny remembered the bland room she was put in for what felt like forever. The whole time she alternated between being fine and feeling like she was outside of her body, looking down at herself, and crying uncontrollably.

It felt like she had been in that room for hours when another woman came in with Officer Annie. She introduced herself as Carmen and told her a lot of things that Penny couldn’t remember for the life of her, even seconds after the woman had said it.

At some point she was guided out to a car and taken back to her house. She didn’t remember being told to pack a bag, but all of a sudden that’s exactly what she was doing. As she packed, she looked at the clock again. It read ten o’clock. So much had happened in four hours. She had almost run out of tears even. Key word: almost, she thought as tears flowed from her eyes yet again. She ignored it and continued to pack.

Carmen came in at some point. When she started speaking, Penny was able to listen to what the woman was saying for the first time since the whole ordeal had started.

“Hey, sweety, how’s packing going?”

She waited for Penny’s answer, which came in the form of a nod, before continuing.

“Alright, that’s good, you’re doing so good so far. As soon as you finish up here, I’m going to take you somewhere you can stay for a while. It’s near here, so we won’t have to travel far, okay? I’ll be downstairs if you need anything and come down whenever you finish up here.”

Penny had no idea how much time had passed before she was finally finished and she headed downstairs after pausing to simply stare at her room for a few minutes, head empty of thoughts. She was too exhausted to think and too exhausted to feel anymore. She just felt empty.

When the girl finally made it downstairs, she was ushered into a car where she laid her head on the window and closed her eyes, completely drained.

She woke – not knowing when she had fallen asleep or how long she had slept – to her head pressed against the window and the car stopped in a driveway.

Carmen spoke in a soft voice, “Come on, honey. Let’s get you in and settled, huh? It’s been a long day and now’s a great time to get some rest I think.”

She led the tired and stumbling girl up to the door, knocking loudly enough to be heard, but still quietly, so as not to wake up anyone who may have been sleeping.

The door opened quickly, revealing an older man who looked like he had seen his fair share of life, and that his life had left its mark creating deep lines engrained in his face, a testament to the things he had survived.

He ushered the two females into the house and smiled at them, stretching out a hand first to Carmen and then to Penny, gripping her hand firmly, but comfortably.

“Hello, you must be Penelope. Come in and make yourself at home. My name is Jason Gideon and I’ll be taking care of you for a while…”


	5. The Mistake

Albert Einstein once said, “A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new.”

As Spencer could attest, this quote was certainly true. The first time he had tried something drastically new, it caused the largest mistake of his life. He had an eidetic memory so he could reliably attest to that fact. It was, in the most literal sense, the largest mistake of his admittedly short life. 

There were a lot of perks to having an eidetic memory, but there were times when it really wasn’t worth it. Spencer had analyzed the cost-benefit split and it was slightly tipped toward the cost side. 

This was subjective, Spencer would admit (this fact was deemed to be acceptable, even though the margin of error would increase, as the point of the research was to determine his subjective experience – it was more of a case study than anything). Some costs may be different for others. Some benefits may be different for others. In the end, it was fairly irrelevant as this analysis focused on him, without taking into account any others. With that in mind, for Spencer, having an eidetic memory really did lean more toward being a negative than a positive.

In specifically his situation, Spencer realized that he may have placed undue emphasis on the school portion of the cost-benefit analysis (though since that was where he spent the majority of his time he felt as though that was a warranted weight), but that was where his problem began, validating his data collection thus far. 

Bullies were his main problem at school, that was a given – and by this point accepted – fact of his life. Spencer was unsure whether the independent variable in his research as to why he was bullied (a separate but closely related study to his original cost-benefit analysis) would be the fact that he had an eidetic memory or not. He had seen a good number of other children, not nearly as smart as him and not at the top of the class mark wise (he had checked), be bullied as well. Therefore, it was likely that bulling existed outside of being directed at those with high intelligence and memory, making it the independent variable in his research on bullying and making it impossible to properly add bullying to the cost side of his cost-benefit analysis. 

His memory couldn’t be the dependent variable, though. Its existence didn’t depend on the presence of bullies in any way. 

It seemed that the flaw was in the variables themselves. 

Changing the variables pointed towards the idea of there being no real independent variable. Both the bullies and his memory were independent and they seemed to be related but not causational. Bullies didn’t cause his memory to be eidetic and his memory didn’t cause bullies. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten far enough in his learning of proper research methods to be able to design a more comprehensive study that would account for all of the variables and their subjective parts. He was stumped.

Back to the point of this whole thing though (ignoring the fact that he still had no answer as to why he was bullied besides the fact that it didn’t seem to be his intelligence and memory), was that he had made a mistake.

Now, Spencer was aware that, regardless of intelligence, mistakes were a common part of life. He had just considered the idea that maybe, just maybe, his would be less severe based on the fact that he could usually see outcomes as variable and could pick the one most beneficial with little effort. This was not the case now. 

When considering the fact that his father had left several months prior, Spencer thought he had done pretty well overall. He had kept the house going, making meals and such (even if they were simply boxed things like mac and cheese), paid the bills, and made sure his mother had taken her medications on time. He had gone to school everyday, and had made certain that no one would suspect anything was abnormal about his life. He deserved a pat on the back, honestly.

As with all good things, however, it had to come to an end. This end occurred at the unforeseen parent-teacher interview. 

He had quickly run through his options when he got the notice. His first thought was not to show up and to simply skip it. This was not a fool-proof plan by any means, but was even less so for him as he was placed on a pedestal and watched closely because of his brains. Teachers would most assuredly know if he and his mother didn’t show up. 

Option two involved having his mother confirm but cancel at the last minute. Surface-wise, this seemed the most logical but as Spencer looked deeper, as he was wont to do, he picked a few large holes in his plan. First was the fact that his mother was going through a rough patch and was not exactly…coherent most of the time now. Getting her to make a phone call would be nigh on impossible. 

He had considered asking a stranger to call it in for him pretending to be his parent but he didn’t think that would work as he had no incentive to ask them to do it for him. It was more likely to make people suspicious than anything else. He was in a fragile position and any more suspicion could bring his precarious position crashing down without warning.

Option three was the worst option of them all: go and hope against everything that his mother happened to be coherent that day.

Guess which option he picked?

He really was a glutton for self punishment. Lady Luck had decided to look favourably on him that day though. His mother was talking about normal things, had taken all her medications with little prompting, and had wanted to go with him to the parent-teacher conference.

When he got home from school, she was in the same state, giving Spencer hope that for once this might just go alright. Maybe he could make this work and everything would be okay for a night.

But, alas, it was not meant to be. As with many of his mother’s stories, it was a tragedy from the get go, beginning with his hubris and ending with the disaster of his mother losing her coherency about halfway though the interview.

Suffice to say that the rest of the night went poorly. The less details remembered the better, a sentiment that Spencer was finding fit with more and more situations as he grew older. There were a lot of things he wanted to remember, this was not one of them. 

Three hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty-seven seconds. That’s how long Spencer had been sitting on the little uncomfortable school chair. Fifty- eight seconds. Fifty-nine seconds. Forty-three minutes.

He was sitting across from the school receptionist while the police and social worker talked to his teacher and took his mother to either the hospital or an institution. That’s what his teacher had called them. Regardless, she wasn’t going home, and that’s the part that mattered.

When he had first been brought down to the receptionist, Mrs. Manson her name tag had read, she had cooed and fawned over him, telling him he was so strong and brave and to just let the adults handle everything. 

“Don’t worry about a thing,” she had said.

Spencer wondered how she could say things like that. He had just done what anyone would do when a loved one was sick, take care of them. More than that, he was actually a coward. He could have gotten his mom help, instead he was too afraid to be taken away and had stopped her from getting proper care. It didn’t matter that that care may not be the best, it still would have been better than his muddled together knowledge of how treatments usually worked.

Really though, how could she possibly expect him not to worry. He was going with people he didn’t know, to a place he didn’t know, until a time that he didn’t know.

There was literally no way for him to be worry free. Absolutely none. 

It was another hour and twelve minutes before the social worker came to talk to him. Spencer had realized that these processes took time, but really, four hours and fifty-four minutes. There had to be a more efficient way to go about this, maybe he could do some research and look into this. The library was sure – 

His thought was cut off by a voice belonging to the social worker standing in front of him. She was older, likely in her fifties Spencer guessed, with her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun. She peered at him through her glasses and stared for a moment before giving him a slight smile and raising her eyebrows in amusement.

He must have passed whatever test she had then.

“Hello Spencer,” she sounded like what Spencer imagined an grandmother would sound like, kind and welcoming. Super sweet. Yet there was an undercurrent of steel there, this was certainly not a woman who would tolerate any misbehaviour on his part.

“Hello,” he replied. 

“I was told you are a smart boy, so I assume you know why I am here.”

She was surprisingly straightforward, which Spencer found rare when people spoke to him, but he greatly appreciated. 

Spencer nodded and continued when she simply put her hands on her hips and remained silent, watching and waiting for a more verbose answer.

“You’ve come to take me away from my mom as both you and the state believe her to be an inadequate guardian. From there you will take me somewhere I am to live until I become eighteen and leave the foster system and the state’s care.”

Spencer had looked into the foster care system when his father had left as a way to try to prepare himself to stay with his mother as long as possible. It was hard to dodge a system you knew nothing about, so he had remedied that fact.

The woman’s small smile dimmed for a moment, before regaining its place on her face.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it, dear, and likely the only way you can see at the moment,” she said, “But ignoring that because I don’t believe I can change your mind right now, would you like to know where you are going from here?”

He nodded so she continued, “You are a smart kid, Spencer Reid, but you are still a kid and that means you can’t take care of yourself forever, even taking into consideration how well you have been doing so far. I don’t want to leave you in the dark, you’re smart, like I said, so I think you can handle it.”

The woman put her left hand under her chin and held that elbow up with her right hand, thinking for a moment before continuing, “A lot of people watch you pretty closely, huh?”

Spencer simply nodded again in response.

She leaned in close to him, not so close as to be uncomfortable but close enough for their words to stay within the little bubble that their conversation had created, so that now they were on a separate plane of existence where only the two of them mattered.

“It’s because you’re smart, although I imagine you already knew that. These people, they know you’ll do something great. Something amazing that’ll make the whole world take notice. Between you and me though,” she glanced from side to side and lowered her voice even more, “I think you’ve already done something great. You took care of your mother and yourself and stayed safe while doing it. Most adults can’t do that, honey. So, while I think you’re going to do even better things from here, well, just know you’ve done incredible things already and that you have nothing to be worried about. You put everything you had into what you knew was right and that’s something you can’t learn, Spencer, that’s something you just have to know.”

The social worker stood up, breaking the spell and spoke up, still keeping her voice pitched low to keep the final words between them, “You are so much more than just your brain, honey, and that part of you that did your best to do the right thing in a bad circumstance, well I think that’s the most special part about you. Keep it safe alright?”

Spencer had understood most of what she had said, but knew he would really have to think over her words later. They had meant a lot to her and that meant they were important to her. She deserved to be heard and understood, even if it was only by a short and scrawny kid she might never really see again.  
Solemnly, he nodded a third time and her smile widened.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I should introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Cleary and if you haven’t noticed, I do things a little backwards sometimes, which I apologize for in advance. I’m the social worker who will be helping you get to your new foster home. Thanks to that big brain of yours we have to handle your case pretty carefully, so you get to go to the best foster home we have. I have a feeling you’ll like it there. It’s a bit of a drive, so let’s get going and you can ask questions on the way. Are you okay with that?”

Spencer slowly stood up, “Yes ma’am.”

Mrs. Cleary’s smile widened even further and the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes deepened, “No need for that, love, just Mrs. Cleary’ll do. I’m not that old fashioned. Now, let’s get out of here.”

The social worker signed him out of the school and led him out the double doors at the front of the school and into the cool desert air. She led him passed the mostly empty parking spots to an old pick-up truck. It was a faded red and dusty, with an old Ford logo on the side and it was tall enough that he had to hoist himself up into the back so they could begin their drive.

Mrs. Cleary looked back to make sure he had his seatbelt in place and turned the key in the ignition. She looked around, backed out of her parking space, and started driving through the city.

They drove in silence for a few minutes – 5 minutes and 42 seconds to be exact – when Mrs. Cleary glanced at him in the rear-view mirror and smiled before looking back at the road.

Her smile was soft and fond when she started speaking.

“Alright, honey, feel free to answer this question honestly, if you say no, I can turn this truck around, but are you alright with heading back to your house to pick up some things? Don’t forget that this is up to you and if you say no, we won’t go, okay?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed and he thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure why it would be an issue for him to go home, he had to get his stuff somehow didn’t he? Regardless, he was glad that Mrs. Cleary was attempting to listen to him at least. Most adults just told him what to do or ignored him fully, only taking him out when they needed him, polishing him off like some long-forgotten antique to be put on display. Sure, he was smart. Really, he knew that. But Mrs. Cleary’s question on his opinion was a nice change of pace.

When he realized that he had never really answered her question, even if the social worker was just waiting quietly for him to decide, Spencer proceeded to nod and give her a small smile in return when she looked in the rear-view mirror again. 

She smiled wider, her slightly crooked teeth adding to her grandmotherly appearance, which, now that Spencer was paying attention, screamed safety. At the moment, she was a life raft in a sea of uncertainty for him. 

The next hour was a blur for Spencer. He was exhausted (who knew just sitting in a waiting area could make you so tired, although from what he could tell a lot of it had to do with the stress of the last little while plus the extra stress from today. He wondered why stress affected the brain that way, what exactly made the body react that way?) and it made his movements sluggish, a parallel to his mind. 

He collected his things, only the most important ones – his favourite shirt, a book his mom had given him for his last birthday, his mom’s favourite perfume – and climbed with Mrs. Cleary back into her truck.

Her being there had made everything easier for him, something consistent in this endless space of the unknown, and now that he was in the car his eyes began to sink in complete opposition with the moon outside, which was travelling high in the sky and lighting up the desert outside of his window. In this place he felt safe. He had good company and it felt like nothing could touch him when they were travelling this quickly. 

Spencer fell asleep surprisingly calm and content, considering the events of the day. As his head lolled against the window and his eyes finally lost their hard-won battle with gravity, he saw Mrs. Clearly looking at him. When she saw him, she gave him a soft smile; the last thing he saw for a long few hours.  
When he did wake, it was to the truck slowing down and pulling into the driveway of a house nestled comfortably between its neighbours. He had woken a few times on the extensive journey, read some, spent some time talking to Mrs. Cleary, and finally they had made it. It had been a long and tiring few days and the sight of the house in front of them filled him with as much relief as trepidation. 

Mrs. Cleary turned around in her seat to face him, having undone her seat belt as soon as they had pulled to a gentle stop in the driveway. 

“Spencer, are you ready to meet your foster family?”

On the way, they had talked fairly extensively about what to expect, what his foster parent would be like, and what the other children he would be living with were like.

So far, the things that stuck out the most were that he was the youngest, the others had all been difficult – Mrs. Cleary had said that in a different voice with an unhappy look on her face, a meaning behind it that Spencer couldn’t identify – and the foster parent had been part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit before an on the job injury had forced him into early retirement where he had focused his efforts on fostering children. 

At this point, he was as ready as he was ever going to be and Mrs. Cleary had promised to stay in touch (Spencer clung to that promise, everything was changing so fast and he found he really liked the plucky women), so there was nothing left to do but go forward.

Spencer sat up, straightened his shoulders, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Feeling himself ready, he steeled himself and nodded to Mrs. Cleary. She got out of the car and grabbed his bag, moving it so Spencer could slide across the back seats and out on the driver’s side of the truck. 

Together, they walked up to the door and Spencer grabbed the social worker’s hand, staring intently at the door in front of him and completely missing the surprise that flashed across the women’s face before being replaced by a look of fondness. Spencer had certainly grown on her and she would be sad to see him leave. She did believe he would be very happy there though. 

By then, the two had made it to the door, which opened before they could begin to think about knocking.

The man who opened the door was tall, and Spencer craned his neck back to look at his face. It was weathered, in a different way then the people Spencer had known who had lived their lives pitted against the elements, but in a way that reminded him of those people, though he could not understand why. He chalked it up to the lingering vestiges of sleep that plagued him. 

The man kneeled down to his level, and they observed each other for a few long seconds. He broke the rising tension by letting his stern expression slip, only to be replaced with one of warmth. He didn’t smile, but radiated comfort and understanding. 

“Hi Spencer, my name is Gideon,” the man – Gideon – began. He then waited patiently and Spencer stepped up to continue.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, his eyes not leaving the man’s face. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you and I think you’re going to enjoy living here quite a bit, do you want to come in?”

Spencer thought for a moment (Mrs. Cleary had told him he did not have to do anything that he didn’t want to, and she listened to him when he spoke, so he assumed that, regardless of whether Gideon would do the same, Mrs. Cleary would listen to his opinions). He didn’t see anything but patience on the man’s face, which never changed or showed impatience as the silence between them continued. This unchanging consistency, something that already reminded him of Mrs. Cleary, prompted him to nod solemnly.

The man smiled as he stood to his full height once more and chuckled.

“Yes, it looks like you’re going to fit right in here, Spencer, I can just tell.”


	6. The Final Arrival

The airport was as busy as every other that she had ever been to. If there was one thing that never really changed, country to country, was that airports were always busy and delayed. 

The girl grimaced, pulling her brown hair back into a tight pony tail so as to look at least a little presentable. She hadn’t had the opportunity to shower in almost forty-eight hours with her first flight being cancelled and having to wait six hours for the next flight. Not to mention the emergency landing that they had to take halfway through that flight, leading to more waiting. When they finally managed to land at their destination, her connecting flight had been delayed. 

At that point she just passed out in the airport, uncaring of what was going on around her and slept for as long as she was able.

Now, she was finally back in the States, ready to talk to the higher ups at the American embassy and explain everything that had happened earlier that week. After that, who knew where she would go.

So, she focused on the now, on what she could control here, in this moment. During this waiting game of sitting on the uncomfortable airport chairs, she focused on how unclean she was. Something that she could easily change. 

She mentally complained about the lack of water, clean clothes, and even food – which had far less to do with her cleanliness levels and far more to do with her rumbling stomach. She couldn’t even go and get food as she was short out of change, sort of how her luck was going at the moment. 

Eventually (Finally, she had complained not quite silently if the judging looks from the older woman beside her were any indication), a man appeared, holding a sign with her name on it. She scurried over to him after picking up her belongings from where they sat on the chair beside her. 

Really, they were quite heavy, an entire coat and the shoes she had taken off at least an hour earlier. Those two items were everything she owned as of last week, besides the clothes that she had on. 

“Miss. Prentiss?” the man asked.

She craned her neck back so she could look him in the eyes. He was a tall, skinny man. Dressed well, but nondescriptly in black slacks and a button up. Under the clothes, she could see that he was well muscled. Probably a bodyguard then. She had important information and had expected nothing less.

“Yes, though you may call me Emily,” the brunette slipped into the role of a diplomat’s daughter smoothly, as though putting on a familiar coat. Except this coat had been honed to perfection and hid everything that she wanted it to, no matter how big or small the secret may be. She had learned this art at her mother’s knee and she was good at it. She had to be by this point.

“This way.” 

The man’s gravelly voice shared only the necessary information it seemed. That was fine with Emily though, she was exhausted after her long flights (note the plural) and really wasn’t prepared for keeping up with the expectations that she was required to as a diplomat’s daughter.

The man, who still had yet to give her his name which was honestly suspicious as hell, led her to a black, FBI issue SUV. She was far too tired to care about stupid things like names and kidnappings, but she thought that maybe she should consider it.

“So, do you have a name, or is it just a number?” 

Well, there went the diplomat’s daughter, far faster than she had anticipated honestly. 

Luckily for her, the man didn’t react, at all, which was also creepy come to think of it.

“That’s confidential, but you may call me Alfred,” the man hadn’t turned to her and he almost seemed as though he was talking to himself. 

“Really? Alfred? Like, as in the butler from batman, Alfred? Should I call you Jarvis too, then?”

Alfred just continued on, completely ignoring her questions and acting as though she didn’t exist as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Emily naturally claimed shotgun and silence reigned in the car. 

The comfort of the leather seats slowly calmed and relaxed her, the classic rock in the background acting as a lullaby to put the tired teen to sleep. 

Alfred let her rest, she looked like she needed it with unkempt hair, a dirty face, and deep bags under her eyes. This Emily was strong, though, he could tell. He would deliver her to the embassy, as he was tasked to, but he hoped she would find somewhere nice to stay after that. She was spunky and defensive and very entertaining, but to really grow, she would need someone who could handle taking on this handful of a teenager. He hoped she would do well, her case, at least what he had been told about it, was the stuff of nightmares.

It took them a good while to get to the Embassy. The traffic was not light, but it did give Emily a chance to catch a little more sleep then she would have had otherwise. It would have to do for now.

Alfred woke her up surprisingly gently for all of his untouchable rock man act and she was immensely grateful for it. At this point she could eat a horse, sleep for a week, shower until all of the hot water was gone and she still wouldn’t feel remotely human.

She was led into the grand Embassy, but the number of American Embassies she had lived in throughout her life led to a clear lack of awe with her surroundings. Her being about to pass out from lack of sleep probably didn’t help either. 

Once inside the Embassy, Emily was taken from Alfred and placed in a short-woman’s care. The woman herself was nothing too remarkable, pretty but not gorgeous and fairly average outside of her height. She introduced herself as Margret and was quick. Not just when walking but in everything she did. Talking, explaining, and getting her settled in the room she was to stay in overnight was all done efficiently and without any time to breathe.

Margret left Emily to take her own shower (which finally) and came back in with food before she was done. The teenager was drawn out of the shower long before she wanted to get out due to the rumbling of her stomach and the smell of the burger that had been placed outside the bathroom door. It was almost strategic on Margret’s part, which Emily would be impressed with when she wasn’t exhausted and her stomach stopped eating itself.

Not long after gulping down her food as though she was starving, and by that point she really was, Emily dove onto the bed and found herself asleep, too tired to dream for once and definitely thankful for it. She slept like the dead, a comparison that made her uneasy but an accurate one nonetheless. 

Like a heathen, she hadn’t even pulled the blankets over herself, stopping just long enough to pull back the covers and leaving them bunched at her feet. Reaching down was way too much effort at the moment. Margret took it upon herself to fix that issue, pulling the comforter over the nearly comatose girl and turning on her heal when finished. She strode out of the room without looking back, moving like a hummingbird, quickly and precisely.

When Emily did wake, it was to a knocking on her door. She had absolutely no idea how long she had slept. Finally, she felt rested enough to form a coherent thought for the first time after the incident back in Burundi, a small country back in Africa where her mother had been sent as an ambassador.

The States had flown her back and would need her to report on what had happened in the country before they would find her a place and someone to stay with. If they hadn’t needed her input, they may not have even shipped her back. Politics killed and a young girl was far beneath their notice.

“Come in,” she called, assuming it was Margret coming to get her up for the day.

The door opened and light spilled in from the well-lit corridors, revealing Margret, just as she had thought. The woman walked in and shut the door behind herself as she started in on her spiel. 

“Alright, Emily, we need to meet up with some people in an hour so hurry and get ready. Up and at ‘em.”

Margret opened the curtains and the light cause Emily to turn head and burry it in the pillow under her head. 

“We have lots to do so let’s get to it. I’ll go get breakfast and I’ll be back in twenty minutes. I expect you dressed and ready. I brought some clothes – “ 

It was then that she noticed the neatly folded clothes that the woman had brought with her.

“ – and they should fit you well. Now you have twenty minutes staring now, best get to it.”

She finished her sentence by sweeping out the door just as quickly as she had come in and Emily had no doubt that the woman was a force to be reckoned with. So, while she didn’t want to get up and did indulge herself with ten more peaceful minutes laying in bed, she eventually forced herself to get up and dress in the clothes that were laid out for her.

With the extra time she was given, Emily also managed to go to the bathroom, wash her face, and pull the covers of the bed up in a poor parody of making the bed.   
As she sat down, done with her tasks for the moment and being handed a minute or two to just think, Emily sighed and let her walls fall.

She just finished a flight from a war-torn country, one that her mother had failed to make with her. Her mother was not her favourite person by a long shot.   
Absolutely not. Yet, she was still Emily’s mother and losing her had been a hard blow to swallow. Her mother had been invincible, or so she had thought, and nothing had ever seemed to get to the woman, not even as she lay dying in her daughter’s arms.

As always, the words out of her mouth were ones of critique and warning.

“Why are you still here, Emily. I am a lost cause. Now get going and follow the passage out, you know the way. I expect you to make it and report back to the States, they need to know the state of the country.”

She had looked at Emily as she always had, and if it weren’t for the blood covering her and her mother and the pallor that her mother was rapidly gaining, Emily could have believed it was any other day. She was in shock. That much she knew. For her mother she wasn’t doing enough, as always. The woman had taken her hands and pushed her back toward the passageway that led to freedom.

“Go,” she had repeated, “I gave you a job and I expect it done. Go report to the States, and none of your shenanigans on the way.”

That was enough to get Emily moving and she turned, ready to run out when she heard her mother say one last thing.

“Oh, and Emily? Remember that I love you, and I know that with everything I have taught you, you will do great things.”

Those were the last words that her mother had spoken to her. Fitting, perhaps, that they had also been her kindest.

The image of her mother, calm and maintained even while bleeding out paraded its way through her head. It was there when she closed her eyes and there when she didn’t. It seemed that there was no escaping it…

Until the door opened, Margret stepping inside once again.

“Good, I’m glad you’re ready. Here’s a bagel, you have ten minutes to eat it. I’ll be out in the hall if you need anything. I have a few calls to make but I’ll come get you as soon as I’m done and we’ll head over the meeting room.”

As quickly as she had come, the woman was gone. The only sign of her having been there being the bagel on the table that Emily grabbed and practically inhaled, having become hungry again over night.

It took her no time at all to eat the bagel she was given, plain though it was, and yet as she was shoving the last bite into her mouth, Margret came back in the only way she seemed capable of, like a whirlwind. 

She ushered Emily into the bathroom and gave the teen a tooth brush, giving her the required two minutes before moving her to the main room and then through the door into the hall. 

The two females travelled the maze of corridors, finally ending up deep within the bowels of the Embassy in a plain room, filled only with a long, rectangular table that she was promptly seated at the end of.

All of the eyes in the room were fixed on her from the moment she stepped into the room, and Emily knew not to show weakness. Her mother may have been praise less and overly focused on her job, but she had given Emily the skills to properly navigate the life she lived. 

The ‘meeting’ (she used the term loosely at best) began with introductions which she promptly forgot. Her mother must be rolling over in her grave at that rookie mistake. 

From then on though, the process turned into far more of an interrogation than a meeting. The questions flew through the air and it was all she could do to describe the civil unrest in Burundi that had led to the Embassy there being attacked. From there, she talked about escaping and leaving her mother behind, leaving out the last words her mother had said. Those were to be kept between mother and daughter and they would be something that she would take with her to the grave.  
The people in the room became faceless after a while, and the questions still kept coming. By this point they were repeating and all of the questions and answers were blurring together. Still, Emily answered as best she could, completely overwhelmed by this point and feeling as though the beige walls were closing in on her.

Finally, they let her go. They seemed satisfied and turned to talk to each other in hushed voices, leaving Emily to her own devices. That state didn’t last long as Margret, who had been perched on a chair in the corner of the room, came forward and took her out into the hall. None of the people in the room seemed to even notice that they left. 

Emily focused on the chatter Margret was filling the air with. Just little things, like the history of the building and the pictures in it, but it passed the time as they took a new route through the maze of corridors, ending up back at the front of the building, where Alfred and another man were waiting.

“Alright looks like we’re here. Emily, this is Mr. Teagan Greenald. You’ll be going with him and he’ll take you to where you’ll be staying.”

Abruptly, she turned to face Emily fully, reaching out her hand to shake for the first time. Emily took it and they shared a brief moment of contact before Margret was on a roll again.

“It was nice to meet you. I would take you myself but I’m just so busy that that wouldn’t be possible. Have a wonderful day, dear, and best of luck with everything.”  
With that, Margret turned on her heel and strode purposefully across the entrance way and into the mess of hallways that stretched throughout the rest of the building. She was like an ant, never stopping and working only to better her colony, the Embassy in this case. She was good at it though. Emily found she might even miss her, short though their acquaintanceship had been.

Alfred, as well, turned and began to walk out the door, expecting her and Mr. Greenald to follow. The extraordinarily tall man stomped back out to the same SUV she had rode in yesterday (she assumed anyway, there was really no way to know, they all looked the same anyway) and climbed into the driver’s side once again.

She slid into the back, assuming Mr. Greenald would want the passenger’s seat, and was surprised when he climbed into the back beside her.

He started up a conversation as soon as the car began moving. He told her to call him Teagan and that he was her social worker, but that’s where the important information ended. He asked and told in turn things like his favourite colour, favourite food, some things about his job, and gushed about his wife. Emily answered with one-word answers or less, if she could get away with it.

Teagan didn’t seem to be perturbed by her lack of response and he only seemed to gain enthusiasm as he continued to talk. Slowly, almost too slowly to notice, the conversation turned to more important matters, though Teagan was no less upbeat about that than anything else they had talked about so far.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good thing that you know people because if you didn’t who knows where you’d end up. Somebody pretty high up pulled some major strings for you, you know? The guy you’re staying with, yeah, he was really well known in the FBI. His foster home is probably the best in the area and specializes with the really difficult cases. Luckily, you aren’t a bad case but you’ll meet some good kids there who have gone through things like what you have. It’ll be great.”

“Yeah, great,” Emily leaned her head on the window and turned away from Teagan, staring at the rain that had started pouring outside. Her eyes followed the droplets dripping down the window, picking one and following it as it started its trek down the sheer surface. 

She let her social worker and his explanations of praise for the man she had yet to meet fade to a quiet background noise yet again and focused solely on the water drops in front of her. At that moment, it was simply her and the water, no one else. Her having the opportunity to be in her own world was something that she hadn’t realized had been sorely needed until then. 

Emily let her thoughts fade away completely. It was nice, the silence in her head that hadn’t been present since before the incident. She managed to stay in that strange, almost meditative state until the car turned off, shocking her out of it. 

She found herself in front of a fair sized two-story home, in a nice white-picket neighbourhood. It was getting later, nearing supper time, and the rain had let up to a light mist that soaked to the bone as soon as it touches your body.

That caused both her and Teagan to get out of the car and run to the covered porch, leaving Alfred behind in the car to wait for when her social worker was finished.   
As she wrung out her hair – seriously how did it get drenched this quickly – Teagan knocked loudly on the wooden door. From inside she could hear voices talking and laughing in a way that had never been allowed in her house. Her mother said that they must be prepared at all times to be seen as diplomats and anything less had not been tolerated. 

After what felt like an eternity, likely due to the fact that her social worked had started up on another long, rambling tangent, the door opened. A man stood there, older but still fit and standing tall. Through the open door drifted the voices, louder than before and she could almost make out the individual voices from within the cacophony of noise.

Her attention was drawn back to the man in front of her when he smiled, making him seem a lot less intimidating than a few second earlier. 

“Emily Prentiss?” he asked, focusing on her. She forced herself to stand up straight and plaster a kind but fake smile on her face. Her mother’s lessons had engrained themselves in her by this point.

“Yes, its nice to meet you –“ 

She paused waiting for an answer to her unspoken question.

Without hesitation, the man took the invitation, “Jason Gideon.” 

The newly named Jason Gideon stepped out of the door frame as to allow them entrance into the house.

“Welcome to the team, Emily.”

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats for making it through this monster. Leave a comment or kudos if you feel like it otherwise hope you enjoyed!


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